


Euthanasia

by hamletmustdie



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2doc - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Drug Mentions, Feeding, M/M, Some mentions of violence, the vampire kind not the other kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 15:57:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18803545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamletmustdie/pseuds/hamletmustdie
Summary: 2D had been terribly skeptical at first; terrified and expecting to die, might have been a better wording for it. But Murdoc had shown him there were ways to do it without going too far; without changing, without becoming ill, and most importantly, without dying. It wasn’t as if 2D didn’t find himself often making life threatening choices to begin with. And Murdoc gave him things he couldn't get his therapist or doctor to sign him off on.





	Euthanasia

The apartment is dark, but then, of course it would be. Murdoc stands in the doorway, leaning, glaring, almost, at 2D, who’s got both hands in his pockets and is smiling as if that’s permission enough to enter. When Murdoc blinks once and raises a brow, 2D finally speaks.

 

“Thought we’d- well, do this. That. Again. You know.” He waves an awkward hand.

 

“Now?” Murdoc asks, deadpan. His voice is all gravel and rock. 2D glances aside.

 

“Well, I, I wanted to phone you but you don’t- you don’t have one,” he tries to laugh but Murdoc doesn’t even smile, so he goes quickly on, “I even- I even considered writing you some letter, but, ah, that’s sorta- that’s really- really old school, you know? So. Um. I-... This is a bad time, then, huh? Well, then, uh, raincheck, we’ll, uh-”

The door closes and for one humiliating instant, 2D thinks he’s been wordlessly rejected. The door is stained dark brown, and there are chips and scuffs from years of wear and tear. The flat is old, ugly, and in rather poor condition. It’s some shitty part of town where all the pubs and bars smell like shit and the clientele all look eager to start a fight. Granted, 2D is used to these types of people, he lives not three blocks away, but then, he’s usually locked up in his own flat with the shades drawn and the tv on mute and running that same shitty, favorite album of his on the record player for the hundredth time.

 

It’s strange, even now, that Murdoc’s lived here probably twice the time 2D’s been alive and he’s never seen him once until three months ago.

  
Another two seconds slips by and 2D’s shoulders relax as he hears the slide of locks and rattle of small chains. The door opens, all the way this time, and Murdoc stands at it, gestures once for 2D to enter. 2D does. The door shuts behind him, and they’re thrown once more into mostly darkness.

 

As he recalls from his first, second, third, now sixth visit to Murdoc Niccals’ flat is that the newspaper pressed into the windows is still yellowed, old, and drying, cracking in some places, veiny slips of light sliding out to shine onto the floor. The place isn’t filthy, or anything like what the outside might lend it to be. It’s actually tidied up well enough; there’s some random junk on the coffee table in the living room, as there was last time (a few beer cans, two old newspapers, the tv remote, an old cup of coffee), but save for that mess and a few stranded piles of clothes here or there, the place is clean. No dirt on the floor, no dead flies gathering in corners. 2D glanced around like it was the first time he’d been here, but really he just wanted to get to a picture in the hallway that he passes every time, and that Murdoc doesn’t let him dwell over because he says it’s, ‘ _ old as shit and not worth treatin’ like it means anything,’  _

He’s still kept the picture up, though, 2D notices.

It is an old, grainy thing, dated no later than the early sixties. Murdoc is a surprisingly young vampire, for all his brooding and faux wisdom. In the picture, he finds Murdoc, easily, the unmistakable broad nose and flat lined mouth. Even as a child (perhaps six, maybe eight), he looks irritated and offended. One hand clasps his right shoulder, belonging to what seems to be an older brother. Murdoc’s never spoken of him, never pointed out who’s who in the picture, and 2D’s never asked. The older brother bears resemblance in Murdoc’s eyes, something in that dark glint, and then, lastly, besides the grass and the trees (an outdoor picture; 2D imagines it was taken after the buying of some quaint little house), there is an older man with a long nose, and thin, crinkled eyes. He’s smiling faintly. 2D can’t quite place the smile, because it doesn’t hint at any pride or affection for the two other boys in the picture. It’s more-

 

Murdoc is suddenly grabbing at his arm and tugging him towards the living room, past the hallway and the picture. He grumbles something that 2D doesn’t quite catch; he sounds as if he’s just woken up.

 

“Sorry, were you sleeping earlier?” 2D asks hurriedly. It  _ is  _ daytime, afterall. “I-I can come back, it wouldn’t be a problem-”

 

“No,”

 

“No- uh, no I didn’t wake you-?”

 

But Murdoc doesn’t answer that, instead lets go of his arm after he leads him to the couch, “Stay here,” 

 

2D does as he’s told, long legs drawing up as he sits down and grips his knees, pressing his lips together. His reflection is distorted in the television, turned off, and he keeps having to glance away from it so as not to meet his own eyes.

The living room is a little bare, and 2D gets the impression that Murdoc might just be nomadic. There are three posters for live band shows spread here or there. Before Murdoc left, he opened the black out curtains that lead onto the balcony just enough so that 2D might see better. He watched him move strategically aside so as not to step into the light which it brought in.

He’s never seen any other rooms than this, aside from a bathroom. He wonders if there’s a coffin in Murdoc’s bedroom, or a comfortable bed. It feels rude to ask which.

 

Murdoc returns from his room a moment later. He carries with him an armful of orange prescription bottles, and a black zipper bag, like one you might use for the bank. He sets it all on the coffee table.

 

“Any preferences?” Murdoc asks, opens the bottles and emptying them into little piles. 2D watches.

 

“Same as usual,”

 

Murdoc hums in response. 

2D is keenly aware of Murdoc beside him. He knows very little about him, besides his name, his status as a vampire, that his apartment is on the third floor, and that he acquires vast amounts of various drugs, mainly prescriptions and intense pain relievers. 

 

They had met three months prior, while 2D had been in a deal gone wrong behind a back exit of a bar he frequented. Well, it wasn’t really much of a deal gone wrong more than it was 2D had tried hooking up with the wrong people, and they were simply going to mug him, maybe stab him half to death for trying to keep the peace and talk them down about it.

It had been a rainy evening. 2D didn’t even recall why he’d thought it’d be a fine idea to speak to those guys, see if they had something he was interested in. Next thing he knew he was pressed into a wall with a bloodied nose, his head shoved painfully against a wet brick wall, and a terrible, hollowness in his stomach from where he’d been kneed there.

He thought it’d been around 2AM. Maybe it was only one. Nonetheless, Murdoc had been out, too. Perhaps he had a bar he frequented himself. At first, Murdoc had seemed interested in watching the fight fall apart. He might’ve intended to feed on them all, with 2D as an extra treat. When they’d noticed him watching, arms crossed, they’d kicked 2D in the ribs and rolled him once so that he might face Murdoc; 

_ ‘He yours?’  _ 2D never quite recognized the voice, even before everything had gone wrong. Maybe they were new in town. Maybe he just didn’t pay enough attention.

Murdoc killed them all. Quick and brutal and almost bloodless. It had begun to rain again as 2D tried to make himself sit up, stand, but had been too weak and bruised to. He’d listened to the patter of the rain on the asphalt and the terrible, wet sucking noise coming from where Murdoc was hunched over one of the bodies. 

 

Murdoc brought him home, set his broken nose back into place, and told him if he was so interested in buying something perhaps he’d allowed Murdoc to make him an offer..?

 

2D had been terribly skeptical at first; terrified and expecting to die, might have been a better wording for it. But Murdoc had shown him there were ways to do  _ it _ without going too far; without changing, without becoming ill, and most importantly, without dying. It wasn’t as if 2D didn’t find himself often making life threatening choices to begin with.

 

Murdoc bags it all away, neat little plastic baggies which he lines up on the coffee table.

 

2D fidgets as Murdoc turns to him. “Wouldn’t it be easier if I just stole you those little tranfusions packets they have at hospitals?”

 

“How the hell would you manage that?”

 

2D shrugs, “I’ve been in and out before…”

 

“Got cold feet?”

 

“No,”

 

Murdoc sighs, “Setups like that aren’t reliable for long.” He narrows his eyes at 2D just a bit, “In fact, most setups aren’t,”

 

“I’m fine,” 2D holds up both hands, trying to smile. He’s blushing, too, but then he always does when Murdoc eyes him too closely. “I’m just- it’s- it’s only a little difficult to get used to,”

 

“Hm.”

 

“I’m trying-”

 

“Sit back,” Murdoc demands impatiently.

 

When Murdoc brought him back to the apartment those three months back, 2D asked him what made him go so far for some druggie like himself. Murdoc just shrugged.

 

2D swallows then forces in a quick breath.

He situates himself to Murdoc’s left, presses his back into the couch, relaxes as best he can. Closes his eyes. Breathes in and out. In, out. In out. He feels Murdoc reach over and push aside a lock of hair. Feels him draw nearer, the way the couch dips beneath him, the cool touch of Murdoc’s palm as he tilts 2D’s chin, a finger on his jaw. He reminds himself that Murdoc likes to surprise him, likes the way he gasps- it's all predator stuff, really, quite natural. He won’t warn him when he’s about to bite. He feels his own pulse thrumming wildly beneath hot skin and nearly chokes when he feels strangely warm breath against his neck as Murdoc leans in. 2D can’t believe the amount he’s always willing to risk for a good high. 

 

Suddenly, he can’t recall if the high is the pills or simply  _ this. _

 

Murdoc seizes forward and sinks teeth into the curve of 2D’s neck.

 

He opens his mouth to make some strangled sound but Murdoc’s free hand flies out to clasp over his mouth. It muffles, and he whimpers as if he’s surprised this should hurt. Murdoc’s hand is cool and it tightens and presses 2D closer towards him, his other hand grabbing his shoulder, and his teeth, his teeth,  _ why _ did it always feel as though they were burrowing impossibly deep into him until they broke through collarbone until finally hiding within the cavity of his chest? 

 

It doesn’t feel good, to be fed on, but then, 2D isn’t so afraid of pain. He holds onto Murdoc tight, grimaces, but tries to relax. And he’s always had a sensitive neck. 

2D had taken Murdoc’s revelation as a vampire really well; partially because Murdoc had doped him up to assist with the pain of being mugged. The second time around had been a little more frightening. The third time, 2D almost didn’t care. Now, it was sort of a plus. It meant he didn’t have to pay with real money, and rent was tight lately.

 

Always, he feels like there should be blood all around them, ruining the sofa then the carpet, too. He begins to feel limp, begins to slacken in Murdoc’s grip who only draws him nearer, tightening his grip still as 2D’s eyelids flutter. Murdoc loves to go too far. Of course, 2D knew this, knows it now as darkness draws in and he feels Murdoc’s lips curl into a sort of vicious smile against his neck. Murdoc likes to be in control. He imagines he might look and feel this way while he’s fucking. 2D imagines he wouldn’t turn down the offer, recalls what he knows of vampires and their allusions to sexual desires, but then - do those apply to real life, living (living?), breathing vampires? 

2D remembers hearing Dracula had something to do with repressed sexual desires. Sure, Murdoc seems repressed but not necessarily sexually. No, certainly he gives the impression of someone quite- … well, his mind tended to wander when Murdoc fed on him. It isn’t hard to when Murdoc’s mouth is so hot against him.

 

It lasts for thirty seconds, then a minute, then time sort of begins to melt into itself and 2D’s almost swaying, despite Murdoc’s tight grip on him. This happened last time, and the time before that, and it’s almost like some running joke; 2D doesn’t mind (somehow?) and Murdoc  _ certainly _ doesn’t mind, either.

Then, suddenly, Murdoc is roughly letting him go and he slides aside, blood running down his neck. 2D gasps a bit, tries to force himself into sitting up while Murdoc draws his arm across his mouth. He’s still grinning.

 

“You’re gettin’ better at this,”

 

2D doesn’t respond, can’t really. His heart hammers in his ears, his blood is rushing. His veins feel like they’ve thinned.

 

“Think you can go longer..?” Murdoc asks, moments later. 2D blinks. 

 

“... S-sure,” He doesn’t know why he says it. Murdoc crawls towards him, grabs his shoulder and yanks so that their chests are nearly touching, and he stoops down again. 

 

The first time they met, they agreed on thirty seconds. The second time, it shifted to a minute, and then it became a sort of a game, sort of like when he was young and he and his friends might sink into a pool and see how long the other could remain underwater. If he dwells on it for longer than a second, 2D realizes how little these two things are comparable, really.

 

One of 2D’s hands flies up to Murdoc’s head, finding his hair and tugging. Murdoc bites down harder, and 2D whimpers. One of Murdoc’s hands, still on his shoulder, tightens. 

 

“S-slow down, please-” But Murdoc returns the earlier gesture, his free hand grabbing at 2D’s own hair, yanking harshly to expose more neck. He hisses in pain.

He’s keenly aware, now, of the heat spreading throughout himself, in his cheeks, in his stomach, and then lower, still. He bucks up a little into Murdoc who makes some low, growl-like sound in response. 

 

Last time, after he finished, Murdoc grabbed 2D’s jaw and kissed him, hard. It was a messy, intense kiss that made his head spin. When he let him go, he didn’t shyly await his response; Murdoc simply stood up and told 2D when were the times and days he was free the next few weeks.

 

Murdoc’s grip in his hair loosens until it becomes something more of a caress. Reluctantly, he unlatches his mouth from 2D’s neck, licks at the puncture wound slowly. His tongue is burning hot and 2D shudders. He figures at this point Murdoc isn’t just trying to freak him out anymore. 

“Murdoc,” breathless, 2D leans into him.

 

Murdoc holds the back of his head, “What?”

 

He licks his lips nervously. His vision is blurry and his words sound almost slurred, like he’s half asleep. “Can’t we- also-” 2D murmurs, half smiling. Murdoc blinks at him once, blood running slow and thick and lazy from the corner of his mouth. 

 

Realization sets itn and though he smiles, he says, “You’re half dead,” 

 

“I’m askin’, though,”

 

“You are,”

 

“Come on, Muds,” his voice is breathy, exhausted. Consciousness a vague, blurry thing on the sides of his vision and he’s certain if they  _ do  _ do it, he’ll faint, but…

 

2D sways to pull away so that he might see Murdoc’s expression. Murdoc reaches and touches his knuckles to 2D’s cheek. There’s blood staining his hands, but it’s dried so rapidly it’s already begun to crack. He’s watching him, thinking, and 2D can’t quite follow, halfway because he’s on the cusp of passing out, and halfway because Murdoc’s hard to discern. He half expects him to say something vulgar and annoying, but then, his glare isn’t really harsh. 2D might dare to say he looks soft.

 

The distance between them is short enough for him not to quite realize Murdoc’s come closer until his lips are against his own. His own blood stains his mouth and for an instant, it’s disgusting and terrible, his own mortality rising up to greet him and he realizes stupidly he very well could die here, and absolutely no one would notice or care. Then Murdoc’s other hand comes up and slides through his hair, gripping it just enough so that he can’t move, as Murdoc’s tongue slides into his mouth. 2D makes some small sound. As soon as he does, Murdoc’s hand grips his jaw, tight, almost aggressive, and he kisses him harder until 2D’s gasping. He lets go of his hair to reach down and swing both of 2D’s legs onto the couch so that he’s lying down. Murdoc climbs atop him, one hand pinning his shoulder to the couch, the other still grabbing at his face so that he’s always close enough. 2D’s hands don’t know what to do or where to go. He’s done this before, sure (of course, he’s never been so exhausted and half asleep before, even while  _ extremely _ stoned), but now he feels almost awkward. His hands scrabble at Murdoc’s back, feebly slipping beneath the hem of his dark green shirt to find skin. Murdoc is almost a sickly greyish, green color, and it should frighten him, disgust him, even, but it’s so unique, something he’s never seen before that 2D can’t help but vaguely admire him for it. Murdoc certainly doesn’t stand out for any handsomeness but he isn’t  _ ugly _ either, not at all.

Murdoc breaks away to straddle 2D for a moment, then impatiently tugs off his own shirt and tosses it aside.

 

“Sit up,” he demands and 2D tries to. He’s weak and dizzy but he’s still smiling. Murdoc glares at him briefly. “How are you managing to blush?” He yanks 2D up by the front of his shirt, and he grips Murdoc’s sides to keep from falling back down again. Murdoc hikes up his shirt, and throws that aside, next. “This won’t get you anymore, by the way,”

 

“Hmm?” 2D’s brow furrows, not quite understanding. He’s leaning so close against Murdoc his chin is on his shoulder. 

 

“Whoring. It’s not part of our agreement,”

 

“Oh,” 2D frowns, looks up at him. He hadn’t been thinking about that, not at all. Disappointment stirs in his chest. He opens his mouth to tell him that, that he wanted this on his accord, it had nothing to do with pills or money, but all he can see is Murdoc grinning cruelly down at him, waving him off. So he says nothing. Even so, Murdoc looks down at him, touches his face too gently again. It’s strange when Murdoc does anything like that, anything gentle or tender, even. But then, the idea of Murdoc holding some sense of chivalry and romance deep within him isn’t something 2D thinks is out of character. The gesture is kind enough to make him forget his own disappointment, and he leans up to kiss him again, once.

 

He lets Murdoc examine his body, find how his rib cage pokes out a little too much, the happy trail of blue hair on his belly (“So the curtains match the drapes, huh?” Murdoc teases quietly. “A lotta work to dye all that,” “I didn’t,” 2D says tiredly. “It’s from an accident.” “Whatever,”) that slips into his underwear. Murdoc kisses the scars on his chest, symmetrical under both breast, and he doesn’t ask or seem to care what that means. 2D allows him to slide his belt from the loops and then tug his pants down, but when he runs his mouth too close to the point where his leg meets his body, 2D gently grabs at his head to get his attention.

 

“Not like that,” he whispers. Murdoc almost immediately rises up, climbs off of him, and tugs off his own belt, pants. When he crawls back on top of him, 2D is struck by the heat of their bodies meeting, despite what Murdoc is, and wonders if part of Murdoc’s own arousal comes from those predatory extincts that 2D is entirely under his control.

 

Later, 2D is almost disappointed he was so exhausted and drained. The moments pass like blurry glimpses, vague realizations of where he is and what he’s doing. Murdoc hiking up his legs from underneath his knees, holding him as he pushes into him, 2D grasping the sides of the couch and whining. He sees himself later, face pressed into the arm of the couch because Murdoc’s flipped him over, and he can hear only their heavy, laboured breathing and wet, vulgar sounds of sex. He remembers only a little of what Murdoc mutters to him, breathy things in his ear that makes 2D groan and bite the arm of the couch or the skin on his arm.

Murdoc doesn’t bite him again, he hardly even leaves hickeys. 2D wonders if that should excite him or make him nervous (he does have a half dream, half nightmare weeks later of that same day, but this time Murdoc drains him while he fucks him, and 2D is half terrified, begging him to stop, and half moaning for more). Perhaps he doesn’t trust himself to try again? Perhaps it never even really occurred to him  _ to  _ indulge himself and bite 2D again… He dwells also on the idea that maybe Murdoc didn’t want to hurt him. The idea makes him tug at his hair like some schoolgirl.

 

Meanwhile, Murdoc is above him, fucking him hard until they’ve managed to move the couch an inch. He’s rough (naturally), calls him a whore and demands he beg for it, to tell him how much he wants him, beg for more, then say it again, again, and again.

2D comes first, biting his knuckles to keep quiet, and his spent face and moans push Murdoc over the edge, who slams into him a few more times, just to make a point.

He feels a bit filthy and excited by the end of it, like he’s done something a little sacreligious. In a way, he likely has. Darkness still swims at the edges of his vision, and he hardly notices Murdoc pull out, grab both of their clothes from the pile they’ve made on the floor.

 

Later, 2D hears the ticking of a clock in another room. Murdoc has him wrapped up in a blanket, and 2D is vaguely aware of a cup of tea in a coffee mug on the table before him, a plate of cookies, and a juice box. Murdoc mumbles something that this is what they do in blood donation centers. Despite the Summer heat outside, Murdoc brings out a space heater from his bedroom, and keeps talking to 2D loud enough so that he can’t quite fall asleep. When he does begin slumping to one side, Murdoc crouches and jerks his shoulder roughly, glaring.

 

“You gotta stay awake,”

 

“Hmm? Oh. Okay,” 2D mumbles and nods, sometimes smiles softly while Murdoc scowls, rolls his eyes.

 

Murdoc lets him leave sometime around noon the next day. 2D recalls little of his stay, except for the television and Murdoc sitting beside him on the couch, chewing at his nails and watching the tv but hardly paying any attention. Sometimes he sat so that they didn’t touch. Sometimes they were shoulder to shoulder.

2D still feels exhausted, especially because Murdoc didn’t let him sleep at all, and dizziness makes the stairs a bit of a challenge, but they both know he’s fine enough now. 

 

“When do you want me back?” 2D asks at the door, stretching. His eyes are droopy, refuse to open all the way.

 

Murdoc shrugs. “I don’t care,”

 

2D nods, pretends he isn’t disappointed, again. He feels the money and baggie of pills in his back pockets.  _ Whoring _ , Murdoc had called it.

 

“How is...,” He toes the cement, kicks a stray rock aside, “How is next week…? Monday?”

 

Murdoc shrugs again. 2D’s bites back a frown, until Muds, adds, half muttering, “You can come sooner than that,”

 

“I can’t give much that early,” 2D says but he’s not quite too serious, partially because he doesn’t quite grasp that no, if they did what they did today as early as three days hence, he would, in fact, die. 

 

“I know that.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Come whenever you want.”

 

“Okay,” he’s biting back a smile now, mostly because Murdoc seems to find enthusiasm distasteful. Despite his best efforts, it cracks into his mouth anyway. “Three days from now. Okay. I’ll come around-”

 

“Come at night,”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I haven’t slept at all because you,”

 

“Sorry,”

 

“Quit sounding like some kicked puppy.” Murdoc scolds, begins to shut the door, then stops, “If you don’t show, I’ll come find you,”

2D catches the threat. He smiles.

 

“I’d invite you in if you did,”

 

Murdoc rolls his eyes, scowls in disgust, “Those rules aren’t fucking real, you idiot,” 

 

The door shuts in 2D’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> TENDER!
> 
> If it was not clear, 2D is trans in this fic. Also, I suppose it's strange to call him 2D if he isn't in a band, but who wants to call him Stewart? Not me.


End file.
